


Blueberry popsicles

by zooted_skeletons (orphan_account)



Series: Stomach Churners [2]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Emetophilia, Emetophobia, Fetish, Loss of Control, M/M, Vomiting, blink and youll miss it, extremely brief mention of bulimia, its very very subtle though, no i didnt mix up the words emetophilia and emetophobia. the story incorporates both elements lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/zooted_skeletons
Summary: Mikey wonders when his extreme infatuation with vomit began.
Relationships: Donatello/Michelangelo (TMNT)
Series: Stomach Churners [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779001
Comments: 14
Kudos: 21





	Blueberry popsicles

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a vent fic as I was recently diagnosed as both anorexic and bulimic.  
> Bulimia and emetophilia aren't a really good mix, haha! It makes recovery so much harder.
> 
> I self-projected the hell onto this story, honestly. I've been into vomit for as long as I can remember. Most events written in the fic are true events that happened to me, in fact. I am an emetophobic emetophiliac and this is kind of just what the experience was like my first time taking control over my fear and making myself throw up.

Fourteen-year-old Mikey’s eyes are red and unfocused with the flickering light of his laptop screen. The familiar sight of explicit videos compressed into little boxes littered amongst ads of fake messages from “Sara”, the hot milf in his location, was normal to Mikey now. His mind delves into a dead space as his fingers move on their own, tapping the same five letters he’d typed over and over for years.

Vomit.

It was practically routine. Almost every morning when the four teens arrived back at the sewers after patrolling the night away, they’d have a quick dinner, then sleep. But not Mikey. He’d slowly shuffle under his blankets, lean back on his shell, place his laptop on his lap, pop in some earbuds, and watch videos of people vomiting for the next hour or two. He’d been doing it for so long, he didn’t even get off to it anymore, yet he could still watch for hours. Eventually, his stomach would start to hurt, and his throat would tighten, usually at the sight of something particularly disgusting. His breathing would quicken, and his toes would curl. For years, he couldn’t put a label on this feeling; a subtle front of anxiety, followed by a taboo erotic sensation.

He knew he had some kind of fetish for vomit, but at the same time, throwing up scared him more than anything.

* * *

Mikey’s lip trembles as he peeks into the bathroom where his poor brother, Raph, gags and heaves over the toilet. Beside him kneels their father; he’s gently rubbing his son’s shoulder as he retches.

“Daddy...?” Mikey fiddles with the door handle. The small turtle knew of vomiting, of course, but he’d never actually seen it happen in real life. Being that he was only five, he hadn’t had much of a chance to see it happen on TV either. The only concept the turtle had of regurgitation was when he told Splinter he felt sick, leading to the rat asking him if he felt like he was going to throw up. What followed was a very difficult conversation in which Mikey cried multiple times.

The rat’s ears perk up as he spots his son with a terrified look on his face.

“Ah, Michelangelo,” He has a content look on his face; one Mikey couldn’t understand. How the hell could he be so calm when someone was about to throw up right next to him! “Your brother was complaining of a stomach ache.”

“I-Is he gonna-” Before Mikey can finish, Raph lets out a particularly loud noise, followed by the sloshing of water in the porcelain bowl. Meanwhile, his father flinched and turned his attention back to the older turtle.

Mikey doesn’t go into a panic immediately. His knees quiver as his face pales. The terrifying sight continues to replay in his mind, further weakening his body. It sounds so painful. And to Mikey, it looks like he’s just about regurgitated every ounce of saliva left in him! And how could so much come out of his tiny body? It makes Mikey want to collapse.

Though he can’t help but watch. His stomach flips and his head feels numb but his eyes remain glued to his brother.

“R-Raph?” He squeaks.

“Nnh… go away, Mikey…” Raph mutters, to which Splinter’s face shifts from one of calm to concern.

“You do not feel better?” The rat raises a furry brow and moves his hand from his son’s shoulder to his shell, now opting to rake his long, sharp nails down the grooves of his shell. He began using that technique when baby Mikey just wouldn’t stop crying… apparently, his nails against the hills of their shells would send soothing vibrations through their bodies.

“No…” Raph spits into the toilet a few times, then gags again.

“Hmm… you must be sick…” The rat mumbles to himself then shifts his gaze back to Mikey. “Michelangelo,” He rises from his knees to make his way over to the frightened turtle, “Go back to bed… you may sleep in my room tonight. Your brother could be here a while.” The tired old rat seemed sympathetic for his son, knowing he had the weakest heart when it came to such horrific scenes.

“O-Only if you sleep with me!” Mikey snaps out of his trance and grasps his father’s robe, “You gotta!”

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Splinter carefully nudges the little turtle out of the bathroom. “I must stay with Raphael for the night… why don’t you sleep with one of your brothers?”

Before Mikey can respond, he hears another heave followed by water sloshing. He can’t take it.

“Michelangelo-” Splinter is left calling into the emptiness of the lair as Mikey bolts off to Leo's bedroom with tears in his eyes and black spots in his vision.

Mikey refused to use that bathroom for weeks after. The only reason he was forced back into using it was when Splinter found him doing his business in a sewer tunnel outside the lair. Thankfully, he was competent enough to actually piss into the sewer waters.

To this day, Mikey still can’t get the thought of Raph’s face out of his head. He’d squeezed his eyes shut and moved his head in such a way that made him look like he was trying to turn his throat inside out; it was a truly petrifying sight in Mikey’s five-year-old mind.

* * *

Mikey’s hand slides down his stomach under the sheets while the other adjusts the laptop propped up against his knees. He’d settled on a video of two half-naked women, straddling each other and kissing softly. Impatiently, Mikey skips forward until he sees one of the women inserting her fingers into the mouth of the other.

His stomach already churns with the thought of himself in the place of… either of them, really. And the moment he hears the woman begin to gag, he pictures himself. More specifically, the first time he threw up. His throat closes, and his cloaca throbs as he remembers the euphoric sensation of the thick liquid passing between his fingers and exiting his mouth. Memories of each time he witnessed someone throw up pass through his mind like a slow freight train, allowing Mikey to observe each one.

He remembers watching Donnie grab onto his own plastron after receiving a particularly harsh gut-kick from Raphael. His brother fell to his knees with a weak grunt, before calmly releasing a mouthful of bile onto the floor in front of him. Mikey had always been surprised at Donnie’s lack of noises or faces; throwing up was like nothing to him. Well, actually… Mikey’s never seen Don do anything more than spit-up, so he wouldn’t know. One thing is for sure; Donnie has definitely thrown up before. There’s no way someone can go 16 years without throwing up at least once, right? Plus, Donnie likes to keep to himself… maybe he’s thrown up and just never told anyone. The mysteriousness of it makes Mikey squirm with excitement; he yearns to see Donnie vomit. To know what he sounds like… to see what he looks like…

Mikey’s fingers slide down his plastron at the thought of Donnie gagging. Meanwhile, his chest swells with anxiety at the same thought. He fucking loves it. He loves it so much. His fingers quickly find his cloaca, which he rubs without a second thought in an attempt to coerce his cock out.

His mind continues on, though. He can only focus on one memory for so long. The disgusting sounds of women gagging and hurling accompanied by the thought of Leo’s fingers down his own throat were enough to make him cum on the spot.

* * *

11-year-old Mikey squeals in terror as he feels his brother’s hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon, Mikey. It’s not that hard. It’ll be all done and over with if you’d just-”

“No! No no no!” Mikey cuts off his elder brother, Donnie, “I can’t do it!” He cries. Sticking his fingers down his throat and willingly making himself throw up?! No way he could do that!

“It’s easy! I promise it won’t hurt,” Donnie kneels on the bathroom tiles next to Mikey.

“H-How do you even know I’m gonna purge, man?!” Mikey’s voice quivers in agony as he reaches to close the toilet bowl, “M-Maybe it was just me overthinking!” His breath hitches when his brother grabs his wrist and slowly pulls it away from the toilet.

“Mike. You look unwell and pale… you’d feel so much better if you just put your fingers in your mouth and-”

“No!” Mikey barks once again. “I’m not doing it!”

The two turtles ended up staying together in the bathroom for the next forty minutes until Mikey finally puked due to his body naturally rejecting whatever moldy piece of pizza he’d eaten.

* * *

Thick, white globs of cum run down Mikey’s fingers as he trembles under the covers, wishing his nightly session would have lasted longer. It wasn’t often he would orgasm to the thought of himself vomiting, as it still filled him with anxiety… but he thinks the anxiety is what makes jerking off so enjoyable.

“I wanna puke…” He mumbles to himself. It feels stupid to jerk off to something you’re so scared to do yourself. He’s puked before and still jerks off to those memories to this day… but something about sticking his own fingers down his throat makes him shiver.

* * *

The broken, mildewy ceramic tiles of the bathroom are freezing under Mikey’s feet. His heart pounds in his throat as he moves to take a step forward. He doesn’t know if he has the confidence for this. It’d only been an hour since he’d finished jerking off… yet for some reason, the thought of finally getting over his fear kept him wide awake.

Usually, he would ignore the lingering thought of making himself throw up, but something about tonight made his toes curl and his arms itch. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt an overwhelming sense of impulsivity, but the surreal air and unknown force pulling him to his knees in front of the toilet made him feel like he was trying cocaine for the first time. It's dangerously alluring.

He inhales and exhales shakily before propping his elbows on the bowl.

So…

What now?

Does he need to prepare? Wash his hands first? Chug some water? Maybe binge a bit to make sure he actually has food to throw up?

With a quick glance at his hand, he concludes that he should probably wash off the dry jizz stains before putting it anywhere near his mouth. His legs feel even weaker now, which he figured wasn’t even possible considering he just about collapsed while trying to kneel in front of the toilet.

As he stares into his reflection, though, his confidence grows. He’s attempted this before. Many times, in fact… though every time, he seemed to have subconsciously known he wouldn’t go through with it.  
  
Just as he’s about to return to the toilet, he hears the door handle jiggle. He jumps about a foot in the air and squeals.

“Christ, Mikey!” Donnie yelps from the other side of the door, clearly shaken up by Mikey’s sudden outburst. “You can just say ‘occupied’ y’know?!”

“Uh-” Mikey grabs onto the sink to stay upright, his face somehow even more pale, “S-Sorry, dude… I’m just, uh… a lil’ unsettled right now.”

Donnie goes quiet for a moment, before letting out a low chuckle.

“Lemme guess; you had a nightmare, pissed the bed, and you’re washing your sheets in the sink?” For once, his genius brother is wrong. And Mikey is about to proudly correct him when he remembers the actual reason he’s in the bathroom isn’t any better than the reason Donnie stated. With this in mind, he decides to fib… only a little.

“N-No, actually… I just feel kinda sick. Like, queasy sick.”

Donnie goes quiet for a few moments again, before slowly opening the door and peeking in.

“Are you throwing up?”

“Not yet,” Mikey mutters as he positions himself back on his knees. It’s much easier this time. He almost feels comforted by his brother's presence. Donnie has somehow always convinced him to stay and throw up; with him there, the assurance that he will finally have control and make himself vomit for once is almost devastatingly strong.

Without another word, Don slinks into the room quietly and closes the door. He seems a little confused, for once. Probably since Mikey is always so reluctant or doubtful when it comes to feeling sick.

“Gonna try to use your fingers this time?” He asks as he drops to his knees next to Mikey and places a hand on his shell.

“Yeah. I figured… it’s a better time than any, right?” With the feeling of Donnie’s hand on his shell, he knows there's no getting out of this. “Can you, uh… help me?” His crotch twinges with excitement as he asks for assistance. Mostly because of the possibilities of how Donnie could help; He could demonstrate it… or even do it for Mikey! He smirks to himself for a second with the thought of his brother’s fingers down his throat.

“Uhh, sure…?” Donnie tilts his head slightly before shrugging and, to Mikey’s surprise, shuffles closer until his head is over the toilet. “I have kind of a strong gag reflex, so it doesn’t take much for me. It might take longer for you.”

The two stare at each other for a second; Mikey’s eyes are wide and curious while Donnie’s are confused. After a moment of uncomfortable staring, Donnie perks up, realizing what Mikey’s thinking.

“I-... I’m not gonna throw up if that’s what you’re scared of. Don’t worry.” He shoots Mikey a lopsided, nervous smile before propping an elbow on the bowl, “But, as I said, it doesn’t take much for me to throw up, so… sorry if something comes up.”

Mikey can only nod in understanding as his brother opens his mouth and lays his fingers on his tongue.

“Stho, like- mh, you wanna-” Realizing he can’t exactly explain what he’s doing with his mouth full, he pulls his fingers away from his lips and rests them against his chin, “You wanna touch the back of your throat and kinda wiggle your fingers around. And when you feel yourself about to gag, don’t fight it, but don’t enforce it, y’know? Just kinda… let it happen. Make sure not to use your nails and try not to fiddle with the uvula. Also, try to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, if there's enough space. If not, you can just breathe through your nose.”

Donnie is about to put his fingers back in his mouth before he perks up again, “Oh- and try not to pause between gags. The more consistent you are, the easier it’ll come up.”

Mikey, for once, isn’t lulled to sleep by his brother's long explanation. He’s always been fascinated with how the people in porn make it look so… easy. Does Donnie watch that stuff too? Or is it something he’s learned over time? Maybe he studies vomit…

Mikey is yanked out of his thoughts when he hears an unfamiliar sound; Donnie has his index finger in his mouth and… and he’s gasping.

“Heh, w-wouldn’t it be funny if- if you… if you threw up too?” Mikey chuckled shakily, almost completely encapsulated by the scene before him.

“I’m- mff, thrying noth tho,” Donnie mumbles around his fingers, before pulling them out, “I’m trying not to. It’s kinda hard, since I puke, like, every other weekend. My body is kinda used to this stuff now.”

Well, Mikey definitely wasn’t expecting to hear that.

“E-every other weekend? Dude, what the hell do you get up to?”

“Right… forgot you never go out with Raph n’ I. We usually go to visit Casey and have a few beers. I try to get it all out of me in the same night because I don’t want any hangovers.”

“A few? I never saw you as a lightweight, bro…” Mikey smiles nervously. Donnie isn’t old enough to drink! How could he just gloss over that so easily, let alone admit it so casually!?

“Well, maybe more than a few. I can take quite a few, but I usually try not to. The most I can take before getting completely shitfaced is… probably a shot or two. But if we’re talking beer, I can take a few cans.”

He chooses not to think about his brother drinking. The idea of Donnie drunk and stumbling about makes him shift anxiously.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you puke before, bro.” Now becoming eager, Mikey tries to shift the conversation back to vomit. Maybe if he distracts Donnie enough, he’ll forget to suppress his urge to puke and actually do it! Right in front of him!

“What's with you and puke all of a sudden? I thought you hated talking about it,” Donnie smirks. It’s a nervous smirk… Mikey recognizes his face; that scared yet curious look. The one of seeing something dangerously alluring. Mikey knows it all too well.

“I guess I’m just… tryin’ my own version of exposure therapy?” Mikey adds a small chuckle at the end of his sentence, hoping to settle his brother down. Then, an idea forms in his head. Before he can stop himself, his mouth is already open to speak. “H-Hey, what if… aha, what if you actually did throw up? Like as a form of exposure therapy? You did say you’re used to it-” Mikey’s cheeks are burning as he stares at his brother's confused expression.

“I…” Donnie can barely comprehend what he’s hearing. It’s not so much of hearing someone who he’s known to be emetophobic all his life as it is hearing his brother indirectly ask him to puke in front of him as if it’s some kind of paraphilia. “Jeez, Mikey… whatever the hell you ate must’ve done a number on your head.”

“I-I’m-! I feel fine, man! Well, not fine, I-I still feel sick but… I was just thinking it would help me!” Mikey wants to shove Donnie’s fingers back into his mouth to keep him from asking any more questions. “W-Why don’t you just throw up and… and it’ll feel more like a natural thing for me?”

The bathroom is completely silent for a bit before Donnie shakes his head with a mutter of, “Oh, for fucks sake,” And puts his fingers back in his mouth.

Mikey’s heart swells at the sight. He’s dead silent for once, now only interested in the display before him.

  
Donnie’s eyes are sealed shut as his wrist gingerly wriggles against his bottom lip. Mikey thinks it can’t get any better until a thick line of spit slowly makes its way down the side of his brother's hand and drips into the water below. He doesn’t gag loudly like Raph; he lets out these harsh gasps of air and nudges himself forward each time.

Mikey is disappointed to see Donnie remove his hand, followed by… nothing. Well, Donnie coughs slightly and wipes his now red, glossy eyes with his other hand.

“J-Just gimme a sec… forgot to breathe,” He keeps his eyes away from Mikey’s gaze, seemingly knowing he was internally getting off to him. Well, of course, he didn’t actually know… did he? The idea of Donnie knowing Mikey’s attraction to him makes the younger turtle shiver with delight. Oh gosh, and the thought of Donnie continuing to give Mikey more jerk off material while KNOWING that he’s giving Mikey jerk off material gives Mikey even more lewd ideas. Maybe Donnie likes to be sexualized? Does he get off to the idea of others getting off on him-

Lost in his daydream, Mikey hadn’t even noticed Donnie shoving his hand back in his mouth until he heard the familiar slosh of water.

He could cum with just the sight of Donnie slowly removing his hand from his mouth as he allows the contents of his stomach to spill out of his mouth with a particularly vocal gag. Mikey wants to kiss him. He wants to shove his tongue down his throat and gag him until he’s puking into his mouth and they’re both moaning and suffocating and-

“Your turn,” Donnie mumbles. Mikey snapped back to reality with his brother's voice. He’s amazed by his endurance. By his ability to act so nonchalant after throwing up.

“Uh-... wait but… how did it feel?”

“Mikey, you’ve thrown up before-” Donnie starts,

“Yeah but I can’t really remember all the times I’ve puked,” That was a pure lie. He remembers all of it… he just wonders if it feels good for Donnie. He wants it to feel good; he wants Donnie to crave the feeling of regurgitation like he does.

“Ugh…” Donnie turns his head back to the toilet, now contaminated by stomach fluid, “Kinda… relieving, I guess? Like if you had a sticky glob of something stuck in your throat and you got it out.” He reaches up and flushes the toilet with a small chuckle, “It used to feel so rewarding when I got it done myself. I used to be scared… maybe not to the degree you are- or… to the degree that you were. But I was afraid of it, so it’s satisfying to do it on my own and take control of my fears.” Mikey is surprised at how open Donnie is about his feelings. Hell, he doesn’t even let others know he’s hungry! It must be the taboo subject, right? It’s not just Mikey who feels so uncomfortably comfortable around the subject of vomit, right?

“So it feels good?”

Donnie raises a brow and shrugs.

“I… guess? I mean, I don’t like throwing up if I don’t need to, but if my stomach hurts or something, then yeah, it feels pretty good… now stop stalling and get to it.” He mutters and lets his arms drop from the porcelain as he leaned back against the sink cabinet next to the toilet.

“Right…” Mikey shifts anxiously in place. He’s caught up in a bittersweet flurry of feelings. Donnie is rushing him to puke! It’s not like he wants to watch Mikey puke, but the idea of Donnie growing impatient to see him throw up makes the younger turtle curl his toes.

As he stares at his reflection in the water, he lets out a shaky sigh. He knows it won't hurt. He knows it won’t burn. So why is he still so fucking scared? Well, nausea isn’t exactly a pleasant feeling… but unpleasantries are what make Mikey excited at night.

“Can you… talk to me?” Mikey places his elbow on the bowl in the same fashion Donnie had. “Just talk about stuff. Tell jokes or whatever. Just don’t be quiet.”

“Hm,” Donnie doesn’t hesitate to jump on board with Mikey’s request, “Okay… so get this…”

Mikey places his two fingers on his tongue, before switching to just his index finger.

“...Earlier today, I was napping. I’ve been having a ton of weird dreams lately; Leo says it’s because of the caffeine but I don’t think caffeine really causes things like that…”

He slowly slides his finger back into his mouth until he feels it graze against the wet muscle of his gullet. He doesn’t gag. In fact, he’s completely stiff.

“...So, in my dream, I was riding a bike, which is already weird since we both know I hate bikes. Plus, I don’t even know how to ride them. But I was riding this really good bike in this small group of people, like five or six humans…”

It isn’t until Mikey starts to gently wiggle his finger that he feels a tickle. He’s not gagging yet, but his breathing quickens and his heart begins to pump slightly faster.

“...And we were riding around this grassy, hilly place. Like a campsite, kinda? It was surrounded by trees and cabins. Oh, but it wasn’t all grassy; there was this rocky path that I was going down that led to this little… opening between some trees. I guess we were at the edge of the forest since there was, like, a full forest behind me but only a single row of trees where the path led to.”

Suddenly, Mikey strikes something. He doesn’t know what it is, but it makes him jerk forward with a violent heave. His brother pauses for a moment as if preparing himself for the vomit that hadn’t come up, then quickly snaps back to his story, knowing Mikey would probably plead him to continue if he didn’t.

“Uh, so I rode my bike away from the group, who pulled over between the cabins to study some bushes or something. Anyways, I ride down the trail to the middle of the trees and there’s a zipline. I didn’t see where it ended, but the hills dipped down really far. Imagine one of those ski lifts on a mountain; it looked like that but replace the carts with a zipline that just doesn’t end-”

Mikey grips the porcelain lid and continues to prod at the same spot furiously. In his mind, the sound of his brother’s voice resonated beautifully, though he wasn’t paying enough attention to hear more than gibberish. His eyes begin to water as he desperately lurches forward and pushes his fingers farther down his throat. Now that he’s actually doing it, he can’t fucking stop.

“So, I grab the zip line…” Donnie’s voice slows to a halt as he watches Mikey. Clearly, Mikey was close to throwing up. It was obvious he didn’t plan to remove his fingers anytime soon. Instead, Donnie opts to hook his fingers under the tails of his brother's mask and hold them back.

Meanwhile, tears involuntarily stream down the younger turtles face as strings of saliva elegantly drip down into the water. Please, please, please, just let him throw up. Just let him be strong. He wants to feel that euphoria Donnie talked about; he wants to have control.

“That’s it… deep breath, don’t take any breaks…” Donnie speaks softly. Yeah, he definitely knows that Mikey wants to jerk off to this memory later. Or maybe he’s just naive.

Well, there’s no time to think about that now. Mikey now gags vehemently with each wriggle of his wrist as liquid arises in his throat.

Then, Donnie grabs his wrist and forces it further down his throat.

He knows.

Before Mikey has any more time to think, he’s harshly pushing his wrist back against his brother’s palm with frantic, wide eyes. Donnie swiftly let’s go, allowing Mikey to pull his hand out of his mouth and… 

He’s not quiet like Donnie, but he isn’t loud like Raphael. He gags voiceless as he vomits. The feeling of control- of complete power over his own body- launches him into a completely new state of mind. He’s excited! And quite frankly, he’s still aroused. It takes everything in him to suppress his erection while trying not to choke on his own vomit. Oh, but it feels so exquisite! It doesn’t hurt as it comes up his throat; it feels kind of good as it rolls up his esophagus. And though there isn’t much, he’s still panting heavily by the time he feels it finish.

“Ugh, what’d you eat, Mikey?” Donnie’s voice interrupts his repeating thought of telling himself not to get hard. Mikey then opened his eyes to bright blue liquid. It didn’t come close to the thickness of Donnie’s. It was practically water.

“Uh… blueberry popsicles.” He replied, completely focused on staring at the contents that just came out of him. “Tasted sweet coming back up,”

“Yeah,” Donnie is surprisingly calm as he, once again, leans against the sink cabinet. “Sweet stuff usually doesn’t change much when coming back up if you just ate the sweets. Oh, but not chocolate. Throwing up chocolate hurts,”

“Why’s that?” Mikey spits a few times, then watched as some saliva caught on his lip slowly dripped into the toilet. It was much stickier and slimier than most of his spit.

“In my experience, it comes up little by little and gets stuck in my throat. It can take hours to get up.”

“You say that like you throw up chocolate all the time…” Mikey glances to his brother with a hint of concern. One that Donnie recognizes. It’s the kind of look that says ‘are you doing something bad?’ but in a suspicious-worry kind of way.

“I’ve only thrown up chocolate like… twice. And I wasn’t exactly… trying to throw it up or anything. I was just really sick the first time and the second time was after a fling with Casey.” Donnie looks down at his hand, which is wet, unsurprisingly. “Your stomach feel any better?”

“Yeah. I didn’t expect it to happen so smoothly.”

When Mikey still hadn’t torn his eyes away from the water below, Donnie huffed in irritation and used his clean hand to flush the toilet.

“Clean yourself off and go to bed, Mike…” Don sighs and stands. “Let me know if your stomach starts hurting again tonight, okay?” The older turtle refuses to look at Mikey as he washes his hands. Mikey can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or pissed. Did he know Mikey was sexualizing him? Is that why he was pissed?

“S-...sure.” Mikey says. Would Donnie throw up with him again if he did tell him his stomach was still hurting later that night? Or… what if it’s an invitation? What if Donnie wanted to throw up again?

Fuck, Donnie was confusing. Or maybe Mikey was just overthinking it.

Before he can say anything else to his brother, he’s gone. But Mikey doesn’t mind much, he doesn’t even know what he was going to say.

* * *

He’s masturbating to the memory of the entire ordeal as soon as he gets to his room. He doesn’t even bother washing his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if you enjoyed :] it motivates me a lot!


End file.
